A Confectionery of Pink
by Idrelle Miocovani
Summary: Hogwarts' new celebrity Headmaster has brought some unexpected changes to the school, especially ones having to do with the colour pink. Ginny, Hermione and Neville are not impressed.


**A/N: **Absolute randomness inspired from a challenge where I had to write about what would happen if a certain annoying HP character had become Headmaster of Hogwarts. This is what I came up with. It's so incredibly random that I had to enlist it as a parody/humour fic. All typos are totally my fault; hopefully there aren't too many here, but you never know, typos have a habit of slipping by. Enjoy!

* * *

**A Confectionery of Pink**

Ginny stared at the parchment.

The parchment – incapable though it was, due to a lack of eyes – stared back.

She gave it a look, one that would have set it on fire, if looks had incendiary properties.

The parchment stayed where it was, completely unmoved by the Weasley Glare it was receiving.

Ginny sighed. One point parchment, zero points her. She reached out and grabbed the unflappable thing, folding it into a vague, simple Muggle airplane-shape and chucked it as hard as she could. It floated for a moment on the nonexistent classroom air-currents and then fluttered down on the opposite end of the table.

Satisfied, Ginny turned back to her Wizarding Life Skills essay, which was to be handed in at the start of that class – she hadn't even bothered to finish it the night before and now she was rushing to complete it. It was even stupider than the parchment, if that were possible. Still, stupid though WLS was, it was a better alternative to the curly script had to offer.

Silently, across the table, the parchment regarded her smugly, its bright pink surface proving to be a distracting point in the corner of her eye. Her quill jabbed her own parchment so sharply it punctured an ink-stained whole through the phrase _quality of wizarding life_.

"Damn."

"That's what I would say," a voice said lightly, "if I were inclined to say anything at all – which I'm not."

Ginny looked up and saw Neville tip several Herbology books on to the table and throw himself into a nearby chair.

"You're late," Ginny said.

He shrugged and cracked open one of his books to where a torn sheaf of pink parchment was acting as a bookmark. "Class hasn't started yet. I considered skipping, but _he's_ getting a little annoyed with my attendance. If I get one more, 'Neville, m'boy, when I was your age' speech, I will re-pot a Mandrake without earmuffs on." He made a face and put on a perfect performance of reading his book. Ginny eyed him for a moment, and then turned her attention out to the rest of the seventh year class. They were mostly all there – except for Hermione, which was odd, even though she hated WLS and had campaigned extensively against its addition to the curriculum. Ginny's fellow students were either studying for other classes, chatting and gossiping with each other, or lying face-down on their desks and tables, drooling slightly at the mouth. Ginny suspected one of George's Patented Daydream Charms was at work.

Neville suddenly started forward, slamming his textbook shut, his hand flying out across the table and snatching up the offensive pink aeroplane that sat at its edge.

"So," he said, thumbing open Ginny's poor attempt at origami, "you got one, too?"

Ginny blushed bright red, both in annoyance and embarrassment, and snatched the parchment out of his hands. "Yeah. You have one as well, I take it," she said, eyeing the insulting pink strip sticking out of _Levitating Shrubs From Across the World_.

Neville shrugged. "I turned most of it into fertilizer for the Venomous Tentacula and the rest into bookmarks. I thought that would be a better use of the invitation. I'm disinclined to agree to it."

Ginny shook her head. "It's not an invitation. It's an order. _He'll _just hunt you down if you don't show up, you know."

Neville smirked and leaned in. "Yeah," he said in a conspiratorial whisper, "but if I'm knee-deep in Greenhouse Three, he probably won't even bother fetching me, or he'll run the risk of getting those ridiculous robes of his covered in muck." He raised an eyebrow. "Care to join? I'm thinking of planning a DA meeting down there, for old time's sake."

She smiled. "I would, but I already got suckered into promising I would show up. Anyway, I'm not sure if your plan would work. _He_ won't come himself, but he'll send those winged dwarfs and have them sing you a screechy ballad until you're forced to come out to save your ears."

Neville snorted. "Please. I'd rather go deaf."

"I'd rather do a lot of things. Maybe I'll take an impromptu trip away from school and go visit Harry."

"Might be dangerous – the winged dwarves could follow you and you know how much _he_ wants to get his hands on the hero of the Battle of Hogwarts. Somehow I don't think Harry would thank you much if you ended up getting him dragged back to school to be paraded around at a Valentine's Dance. That Yule Ball last December was enough of a fiasco."

Ginny made a face. "Don't remind me. I almost wish this year was _last_ year."

"I know the feeling. I think we have a new Dark Lord on the rise – one who likes parties and hair products and the colour _pink."_

"Are you sure he's not Umbridge in disguise come back to haunt us?"

Neville's eyes widened. "Maybe," he whispered, feigning a look of pure horror. He held the mask for a moment and then let it fall, chuckling.

Ginny smiled. She was glad Neville was here. He didn't have to return to do his seventh year over again – she had initially expected him not to. The previous year had been hellish enough, _she_ had almost not wanted to return. But despite everything they had gone through, Hogwarts was still Hogwarts. The school was almost completely rebuilt. It still had the same comfortable aura around it, except for a few corridors that Ginny absolutely refused to walk down. There were some places that had too many memories haunting it.

The world moved on. Wizarding education was still much the same, and Ginny had to do her NEWTS. Even though he had taken his seventh year, Neville – like many of the seventh year DA members – hadn't done his NEWTS. He had barely even been in class. He had spent the entire year fighting the dominion of Death Eaters at Hogwarts. You would think that the ministry would let something like that let Neville be an exception to the usual rules, but not so. So, just like Hermione, he had chosen to return to finish his education, specializing in Herbology. He was even helping Professor Sprout out as an assistant.

Everything was on track to getting back to some semblance of normal.

The exception was their new Headmaster, who ran the school less like a… _school_ and more like a teenaged girls' slumber party with unlimited funds.

Exhibit A was in her hand, bright pinkness and all.

Ginny looked up, giving Neville a plaintive look. "Is there anyway I can get out of this?"

His expression fell. "Short of assassination, I don't think so."

"Damn."

"Exactly. I feel your pain."

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "At least _you_ don't have to dress up in a bright pink, fluffy _pink_ dress with angel wings. When your hair is _red._ And did I mention the pink?"

"No, but pink wizard dress robes are just as bad. I'd almost take the option of being a singing, winged dwarf."

Ginny ran her fingers through he hair. "This is horrible," she said. "Why is he allowed to get away with this? It has nothing to do with education—"

"Unfortunately, it does," a new voice said. "Or at least they think it does, and that's what matters."

Ginny glanced up. "Hey, Hermione."

"Hey." Hermione waved a hello and sat down at her desk next to Ginny's.

"Anyway," Ginny said, turning back to Neville to continue their conversation. She stopped. Her eyes snapped back to look at Hermione.

Their friend was not her normal bushy-haired, book-carrying self. She was dressed down – out of her school robes and wearing a white buttoned shirt and black pants. Her hair was sleek, curled into an expertly set into an elaborate mass of braids and curls and decorated with small pink and white jewels. There were pink studs in her ears and, unless Ginny's eyes deceived her, makeup had been applied liberally to her face, concealing any blemishes and making her brown eyes wider and brighter. Her hands, folded as they were on the table top, showed long, manicured nails.

The rest of the class had turned around when she had walked through the door, their eyes drawn to her like magnets – and they were still staring.

Ginny lost her voice for a moment.

Neville gulped audibly.

"They got to you, didn't they," Ginny finally whispered in horror.

"Unfortunately," Hermione said. "Luna, too. She's still getting fitted. She keeps wanting to add radishes to her dress, and they keep protesting. It's turning into quite the event."

Ginny grinned. "Good for her. I knew she wouldn't go down without a fight."

"I thought you'd be able to get away from it," Neville said, shaking his head. "What did they do to you?"

"Turned me into 'an angel,'" Hermione said. She dug her WLS textbook out of her bag and slammed it on the top of her desk. "Wait until you see what they're forcing me to wear."

"I don't think I want to know," Neville said, leaning back in his chair. "It might make me sick." He paused, suddenly horror-struck by the implications of what he said. "Though you do look really nice, Hermione, I didn't mean it like you _didn't_ look nice, it's nothing like that, I'm sure Ron would—"

"Ron would have a fit if he saw you," Ginny said, chuckling.

"How about let's _not_ take a picture," Hermione said pointedly. "Ron doesn't need to know anything about this."

"Agreed," Ginny said.

"The Christmas Dance was enough of a disaster that I don't want any repeats," Hermione added.

"Definitely," Ginny said.

"If he came, we might have to scrape his jaw off the floor," Neville said.

Ginny snorted.

Hermione smiled and reached up to pat her hair absentmindedly; she immediately forced her hand to drop. "I keep doing that," she muttered. "I really just want to tug it out, it's so uncomfortable."

"And I thought it bad just having to wear pink dress robes," Neville said.

"Hair care should be banned," Ginny said.

"More like forced hair care," Hermione muttered. "But unfortunately, as Head Girl I must fulfill all of my duties, which includes parading around in… _this." _She gave a critical wave at her elaborate updo and then rested her chin on her folded hands.

Ginny eyed her friend for a moment and then glanced at the evil pink parchment. It was a letter, addressed to her in complicated calligraphy that must have taken a very long time to write (it was all curves and flourishes, making it almost impossible to read). She had read the contents several times already; each re-read gave her a sinking, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. How was she going to avoid this affair all together without sliding into pure rebellion and offending their new Headmaster?

Not that offending their new Headmaster was really a problem for her. She'd offended all three previous ones at some point. It was just something she did.

She clicked her tongue and glanced at the nausea-inducing calligraphy:

_Dear Miss Ginevra Weasley, _

_It is my delight to inform you that you have been selected to be one of the Angelic Attendants at this year's Valentine's Ball. You will be representing Gryffindor and your duties include opening and closing the dance with your partner, providing entertainment, and promoting inter-House relations, all the while looking positively radiant (naturally). You will be required to meet our Valentine's Helpers in the Entrance Hall at two o'clock sharp in the afternoon of February 14th. Please come dressed as you are; everything will be taken care for when you arrive. If you are concerned about payment for your gown and makeup, please be reminded that all expenses are paid for by the school. _

_Please be prompt, and thank you for your time. _

_Yours sincerely, _

_Gilderoy Lockhart, Headmaster_

Ginny blew out a puff of air. "Well… it doesn't _say_ that it's mandatory."

Hermione chuckled. "I was thinking of getting out of it through that loophole."

"Yes? Then what?"

She sighed. "Then I thought… well, I wouldn't be doing my job as Head Girl and I've already challenged the _Headmaster_ on several accounts. He's already upset enough with me as it is. It's easier playing along with it. Besides…" She patted her hair again and smiled. "It doesn't hurt to look nice once in a while."

"Hermione, we're going to look positively _garish,"_ Ginny said. "I have half a mind to march down there right now and remind Mr Wonderful that he nearly left me to die in the Chamber of Secrets during my first year."

She traded dark looks with Hermione and they fell silent. Neville bit his lower lip. Though what had happened during Ginny's first year was common knowledge among their circle of friends, they were all under threat of expulsion should they mention it to their oh-so-beloved Headmaster. Lockhart was not a fan of being reminded of his failures, but the difficulty lay in that no one knew if his story was true or not. Ginny knew Ron and Harry's version – Lockhart had been hit by a Memory Charm backfired on him by Ron's malfunctioning wand and then he had ended up in St. Mungo's for a period, his brains addled.

But then, some years later, he was released, mysteriously proclaiming that he had, in fact, retained all of his memory and that his period in the hospital was merely an experiment. There had been much applause from his many adoring fans, and Gilderoy Lockhart had returned to continue writing his famous books and to continue having adventures that Harry and Ron swore never happened. It was commonly believed among most of the Hogwarts staff that Lockhart was a liar and a fake, but his hordes of fans countered that belief to the point where most of the students believed – or chose to believe – that his extravagant stories were true.

Because Lockhart had never chosen to write about his adventures to the Chamber of Secrets, Harry and Ron never had the opportunity to countermand him. They had been planning on doing it after Lockhart made his grand return from "memory loss", but got sidetracked. Cleaning up after the Battle of Hogwarts and Voldemort's defeat was a little more important than unseating a celebrity author from his famous perch. After all, how much harm could he really do?

Ginny was meaning to have a long talk with Harry about that.

"Who could have guessed," she said, "that _Lockhart_ would have been appointed Headmaster of Hogwarts. Did the school council even _look_ at his record and see how successful he was as Defence Against the Dark Arts prof?"

"That's the thing," Hermione said. "They did look. And they decided not to count the reports, considering the whole thing with the Chamber overshadowed everything else."

"That's ridiculous! Now I'm stuck wearing a big, pink poufy dress because of that!"

"Well, look on the bright side," Hermione said, picking up Ginny's letter and quickly scanning it. "At least you get to miss part of our _wonderful_ WLS class. Two o'clock is in half an hour. Where is that dratted teacher?" she added, glaring at the classroom door. "I thought punctuality would be one of the things they emphasized in a _life skills_ class. Class should have started fifteen minutes ago." She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, tapping a foot on the floor.

"Honestly, the later Miss Snazzy arrives," Neville said, "the happier I am. If I see another shade of that colour of pink she insists on wearing, I will vomit."

Ginny blew out a puff of air. "It's the sparkles I don't like."

"It's the class _I_ take offense to," Hermione grumbled.

"Well, we're already agreed on that," Neville said. "Really, why do we need _life skills?_ What kind of a… just _why?_ You don't live through school – especially this school – without learning some life skills, it's completely ridiculous!"

"It's redundant," Hermione said, "but the Ministry sees that Hogwarts needed a class like this, to prepare students for the 'outside world', and this is what they came up with – no thanks to the many suggestions from our beloved Headmaster. It's poor schooling; none of us need to know the idiocy they teach in this… this travesty–" She waved a furious hand at her textbook – "but they insist on it."

"So, enlighten me," Ginny said, folding her hands on top of her desk, "what the hell do these balls and dances have to do with education?"

"The dismissal of centuries of stereotypes," Hermione said. "Inter-House communication, creating friends, that sort of thing. Being accepting. They've decided that balls and dances are the best playhouse for that sort of thing – let the students dance their troubles away."

Neville rolled his eyes. "I call for full out rebellion," he said, a little too loudly.

"And why would you need that, dear?" a high-pitched, sugary voice said.

Ginny, Neville and Hermione looked up to see their teacher, Professor Amaranth Scarlett, standing in front of their desk, her long fingernails tapping on the surface of the wood. A perfectly plucked and penciled eyebrow was raised over the frame of her deep pink spectacles as she looked sweetly at them, her ruby-red lips curved into a smile.

"What possible way could 'rebellion' help you in the outside world?" Scarlett continued, eyeing them meaningfully.

"It was a joke, Professor," Neville said.

"A joke? Why would you joke about something like that, especially after all you have been through? Certainly it is harrowing enough simply to mention the world rebellion, as rebellion implies fighting and I'm sure you've had enough of that for the rest of your lives."

"I was exercising my right to use sarcasm," Neville said.

"Sarcasm, dear," Scarlett said, "is terribly rude. We're trying to do away with rudeness. Five points from Gryffindor." She turned her brilliant, white-toothed smile on Hermione. "Though it is a pleasure to see you dolled up, all ready to perform your duties as Head Girl this evening, Miss Granger. Fifteen points to Gryffindor for looking so splendid. The Headmaster will be pleased." With that, she spun away and gracefully moved across the classroom to her teacher's desk at the front, looking for all she was worth like a misplaced prima ballerina.

Professor Scarlett was Hogwarts' latest addition to the faculty, appointed by Gilderoy Lockhart himself. She was, apparently, an old friend and colleague of his – some wondered if she was even his sister or cousin, considering how much they looked and acted like each other. She had long, wavy blonde hair that had been continuously dyed to produce a beautiful – but unnatural – golden tone that no one her age should have. Said hair was usually spun into elaborate updos, filled with braids and curls, and studded with so many bright gems (mostly diamond-like in appearance) that her whole head sparkled. She had deep pink spectacles that were decorated with tiny little gems that caught the sunlight, and she always wore matching earrings, necklaces and bracelets to add extra dazzle. She dressed mostly in pinks of all shades, sometimes venturing into lavenders and purples. However, her clothes took the form of elaborate dresses instead of proper witch's robes, and the points of high-heeled shoes – decorated with little jewelled flowers at the toe, naturally – could be seen poking out from under her skirts. She swished when she walked, catching the eye of most of the male students, and held herself with such an upright posture that she could have been a professional dancer. Whenever she passed through sunlight – which she seemed to always have on her – she sparkled.

That was why Ginny and Neville had begun to call her Miss Snazzy behind her back. The nickname caught on fast.

Miss Snazzy was usually not amused by it and was quick to doll out detentions to any student she caught calling her by that name.

The detentions, however, were not to be feared. They were usually assigned to helping Lockhart answer his fan mail, which had increased exponentially when he became Headmaster of Hogwarts. You could usually bet that there were at least five students a day – usually ex-DA members who had difficulty putting up with this ostentatious turn the school had taken – on what was now referred to as "fan mail duty".

"Now," Miss Snazzy said as she swished by her desk and perched elegantly on its edge, "before we begin class, I must apologize for my tardiness. As always, I encourage all of you to be punctual, since punctuality will help you go far in the wizarding world and I am appalled at my own bad example today. However, I do have a good reason: I was helping our wonderful Headmaster prepare for this evening's festivities. On that note, I would like to point out our lovely Head Girl, Miss Granger, who looks splendid this afternoon. You can all see her as one of our Valentine's Angels this evening at the ball."

She patted her palms together in a light applause – no one else joined in. They were all eyeing her either with stupefaction (no doubt caused by Patented Daydream Charms) or were staring at the spider doing web acrobatics around the ceiling. Hermione ignored Miss Snazzy and pretended to be looking for something in her bag – she began pulling out her quill, ink and parchment slowly, one by one. Miss Snazzy eyed her for a moment, then patted her jewel-studded hair and cleared her throat.

"Miss Weasley," she said.

Ginny looked up. "What?"

Miss Snazzy clicked her tongue. "Watch your tone, young miss," she said. "That won't get you very far in the outside world if you keep insulting everyone you come across with your harsh voice. Keep an eye on your tone, ladies and gentlemen. You are the graduating class; you should be offering good examples for the younger students who have yet to learn their lesson. Sarcasm and harsh tones of voices won't get you far – and yes, Mr Longbottom, sarcasm will only deter you in your search for a career. I know you may not believe me, but…" And she prattled on for a good fifteen minutes, her speech spiralling downwards into an ill-constructed lecture about the misuse of language and the horrors of sarcasm, illustrated with examples from her own life where sarcasm had created the downfall of the user in question, a downfall from which they never recovered.

The class sighed. The Patented Daydream Charm users drooled a little bit more, their heads lolling on their desks. Miss Snazzy didn't notice.

Ginny picked up her quill and scribbled out a conclusion to her WLS essay. Beside her, Neville cracked open his Herbology textbooks. Hermione began working on an Ancient Rune translation.

"… but that's enough on the inappropriateness of sarcasm," Miss Snazzy finished. "Miss Weasley, you are excused from class. Please hand in your essay and go directly to the Entrance Hall."

Ginny looked up. "What?"

"Miss Weasley," Miss Snazzy said, "the more appropriate word here would be 'pardon', not 'what'. I said, please hand in your essay—" she extended a pink-taloned hand – "and present yourself in the Entrance Hall. You are already late for your appointment and, as I have said countless times, punctuality is of the most importance in the working wizarding world."

Ginny glared at her. She slowly stood up, gathering her textbook and essay, and marched across the classroom. She waved a brief farewell to Neville and Hermione, dumped her essay into Miss Snazzy's hands, and stalked out of the classroom.

She breathed freer as soon as the door closed behind her.

_Anything to get out of that class,_ she thought.

The corridor was empty. Ginny smiled. She had no intention of walking all the way to the Entrance Hall – no pink parchment would order her anywhere. She sped off towards the Gryffindor common room, rapidly pushing her way through the secret passageways and racing up the least likely stairs to the seventh floor. Once in the common room, she would no doubt be free from this travesty—

"Miss Weasley, you're going the wrong way."

Ginny screamed in surprise. She was halfway between jumping up a narrow staircase three steps at a time; her foot missed the step and she went tumbling backwards down in the staircase, landing in a painful heap at the base. Thankfully, there were no trick steps for her to get caught in, and neither did she hurt herself badly enough to be taken to the Hospital Wing.

_Shame,_ she thought. _I could have used that as an excuse. So sorry, Professor Lockhart, I fell down the stairs and now have a broken leg, I don't think I can be at the ball tonight… _

Slowly, she sat up, rubbing her head, and looked up at the person who had caused her impromptu failed staircase acrobatics.

A little winged dwarf, bedecked in deep Valentine's pink, was levitating above the stairs, his wings flapping very gingerly, and looked down at her with a very cross expression.

"Oh no, not you again," Ginny said.

The dwarf did not look impressed. "It's not my fault," he snapped. "I'm just the one who keeps getting sent after you whenever you get these ideas for mad capers. It would be so much easier if you just settled down and did what you were told."

"I don't like doing what I'm told, Albert," Ginny shot back. "Especially when the thing in question is so stupidly lame I'd rather help Slughorn pickle Flobberworms in the dungeons."

Albert shrugged. "Not really my concern. Though, of course, if you went to Slughorn, he'd just sent you to the Headmaster anyway. He loved parties."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "The Slug Club is ten times better than anything Lockhart can come up with. At least he doesn't make me dress in _pink_ against my will."

"There's nothing wrong with pink."

"There's everything wrong with pink."

"Pink is an incredibly manly colour," Albert said, puffing out his chest so as to make his pink costume even more noticeable.

"You look like an incomplete human Transfiguration into a flamingo," Ginny said.

"Well, you look like a sunburnt radish!"

Ginny flushed red. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Albert's shoulders sagged. "I've run out of insults to use on you, Weasley. Somehow you always get the upper hand."

She snorted. "It's easy when you're the one whose dressed up as a winged dwarf. Maybe you should consider another profession."

"Got no other profession. This one pays well."

"Yeah, but it has too many drawbacks. Did I mention the pink?"

"Shut up."

"You shut up."

"How very mature of you. Aren't you supposed to be a model student or something?"

Ginny laughed. "Of course not," she said scathingly. "I'm a very bad model. I'm a hardcore Quidditch player, I perform the best Bat-Bogey Hex you've ever seen, I hate hair care products, and I cannot – for the life of me – stand the colour pink. I'm the exact opposite of Lockhart's ideal model student."

Albert crossed his arms. "Well, model student or not, I've still got to take you to the Entrance Hall. Those are my orders."

"Thanks, but no thanks."

"I'll just pick you up and carry you."

"And I'll hex you."

"It'll just bounce off."

Ginny's eyes narrowed. She plucked her wand out of her pocket and pointed it at the dwarf. _"Accio Shield Hat!"_

Something invisible whooshed towards her and she caught it with one hand. It was soft and definitely hat-shaped. She stuffed it into her bag.

Albert gave her a mournful look.

"Don't try to trick me, Albert," she said, "you forget that I'm related to the ones who _invented_ Shield Hats."

Albert's eyes narrowed. "Fine. You win. Just don't come complaining to me when a horde of flying dwarfs come after you. You're destined to be a Valentine's Angel and that's that."

"The horror, the horror!" Ginny sighed. "It's lame, Albert, all of it. I'm only here to pass my NEWTS so I can get on with stuff. Lockhart is ruining Hogwarts, can't you see that?"

"Oh, I see all right. But I'm only here to do my job."

"You annoying pest!" Ginny bent down and picked up her fallen textbooks and school supplies. "All right, fine. For my own peace of mind, I'll stop trying to run and go to the bloody Entrance Hall. Anyway, Hermione needs company on this kind of torture."

"Absolutely. Why did I suggest that before?" Albert looked thoughtful.

"Because I said it before you thought of it," Ginny said.

"Oh. Right."

"See you around, Albert," Ginny said, turning and going back the way she came. "Don't try to mess things up even further, okay?"

With a few flaps of his wings, he caught up with her. "How am I messing things up? You're the one who is always messing things up."

"That's what I do."

"Exactly. Can you stop, please?"

"Nope. I'd be bored, then."

"Troublemaker."

"Naturally."

Albert shadowed Ginny all the way to the Entrance Hall, bickering and arguing with her as he always did. Ginny didn't know why Albert was always the winged dwarf to come and fetch her when she tried to go against the Headmaster's plans; somehow, she was fond of the little winged dwarf and his presence always got her to attend the atrocious events anyway. She felt kind of sorry for him, having to parade around in such a ridiculous outfit and be hooked up to magical wings. Except, maybe, the wings weren't all that bad. Being able to fly without a broomstick might be a completely awesome experience. Ginny always wanted to try it – she just never told anyone, least she show some approval for the Headmaster's ideal of perfection.

She arrived thirty minutes late for her appointment. Lockhart was not there when she walked down the marble staircase; he had had to dash off to another meeting, something to do with the decorations for the hall. That was all the better – Ginny didn't know if she could stomach the sight of him right now.

There was a chorus of what looked like Veela waiting for her. They were all tall, beautiful, willowy girls with silvery-blonde hair that reminded Ginny of her sister-in-law, and they were all dressed in pale pink. Their leader scolded Ginny for being so late and then whisked her off to be pampered.

Albert waved a mournful farewell, his wings flapping to keep him levitated in the air.

Ginny's pampering session was not as painful as she thought it would have been. At least, that was until they got around to doing her hair. The amount of pulling and tugging at her red locks almost made her scream; she swore she would have a headache for at least the next three days. She had her eyes closed throughout the entire torturous experience; she didn't want to see what she would look like until the very end. After the hair, nails and makeup were finished, she was presented with her overly pink dress: a huge, poufy gown that fell in layers to her feet, its material star-studded and decorated with fine silvery thread, not to mention the large, angelic wings that would then be strapped to her back (she felt that she was being sewn into a Hallowe'en costume that befitted the American schools she kept hearing about). With the three-inch fuchsia heels that went along with the get-up, she was certain that she wouldn't be able to walk. She had never felt so constricted in her life and swore that she would never wear a dress ever again.

"Well, I see you showed up even considering your best attempts to escape," Hermione's voice said from somewhere.

Ginny spun around – well, as well as she could spin with the enormous amount of material weighing her down. Hermione was also dressed in her Valentine's Angel gown, which was similar, but not identical, to Ginny's. Hermione's dress was sleeveless, a trait Ginny would have died for.

"I felt bad for Alfred," Ginny said.

"Of course you'd feel bad for Alfred. Poor dwarf, being charged with looking after you."

Hermione walked over to her, moving as though she was wading through waist-deep water. "How do you feel?"

"Disgusting."

"Me, too."

"At least you look presentable."

"So do you. Your hair is ridiculously sparkly. I think you got more jewels in your hair then I did!"

"Oh no. Am I pulling a Miss Snazzy now?"

Hermione chuckled. "Go look in the mirror."

They walked over to the full-length mirror and stared at their reflections. Ginny blinked.

"_I'm a bloody pink birthday cake! With carrots for hair!" _

Hermione didn't say anything. She seemed to have lost her train of thought and was completely appalled by the confectionery she had been turned into.

"This is the worst thing I've ever done," Ginny riled.

"I'm starting to wonder what the benefit of my education here is," Hermione said, finally speaking.

Ginny grabbed her wand from a nearby desk and waved it, pulling curtains across the mirror. She stalked across the room as best as she could, her skirts billowing around her, her wings shrugging up and down on her back as though she was about to lift off and take flight.

"I am _so_ going to kill Lockhart one of these days."

_fin_


End file.
